Thursday, 27 June 2013

LONGEST DAY RUN 2013: My Longest Ever Chippierun - and how it almost ended in abject failure

Hey – is it me, or are the nights drawing in?

Of course it’s not me. I know that, you know that. And
you know how I know that? Because the Longest
Day Run has been run – and that’s the event that marks the turning in the lengthening /
shortening of days!Well, that and other stuff, of course. Longest Day Run is an affirmation of
running, of all that is good about the darn thing, from challenging oneself to go
the extra mile (even if that is a solitary mile – in fact, that’s the hardest, requires
getting off the couch!) to sharing experiences and nurturing friendships.
That’s what Alex, Mike, Simon, Trevor, Matt, Chris and Catherine did: they ran 46mi (or part thereof) across the Peak District, from Millhouses Park down
to Baslow, up through Grindlethorpe, Castleton and Edale and back from the edge
of Snake Pass through Bambord and Hathersage. Here’s a shot of them, in all
their unadulterated beauty (as if by magic, appearing l/r in the order in which
I named them above):

Whether any run through Millhouses Park will ever
feel the same for them, I don’t know… for that matter, who knows whether
running in any shape or form has not forever been redefined by the experience?
Will lacing up those shoes ever feel the same again? Will running a simple
marathon ever be enough for Simon or has the Ultra Bug put those 26.2mi efforts
into a whole new, diminished perspective? Time will tell… time will tell… time alone, alone will tell…

Anyway, that
epic, heroic, life-changing romantic stuff is what they got up to. Me, I just
went out for a run.

Well OK, not just any old run. This wasn’t just
Longest Day Run: this, for me, was a Chippie Run! OK, not one of my usual,
direct, 1.7mi there&back Chippie Runs, granted… but then I wanted to make
sure I really earned my reward on this one! So I… er…

…I ran 26.2 miles!

I ventured to the start of my usual
trail run along the Portishead coast, kept going into Clevedon, round and
back towards Tickenham, up to the top of the hill eventually coming out into
Blueberry Hill, down into Portbury, over the M5 back into Portishead, up Nore
Road and home. That’s the abridged, post-run version. The pre-run plan wasn’t
that different, other than I wasn’t overly confident about the section from
Clevedon to Portishead (a connection I usually make somewhat more directly)
which resulted in a detour via some lengthy, forlorn Millionnaire’s Row with
shiny gates, vast houses and huge grounds. I can but imagine what the cars were
like, for most were tucked away some hundred yards from the road… the only one
I saw was an ice-cream van, returning home after a day’s work! I didn’t stop it
but had it slowed down… hmmm, it may well have tempted me! Just for a drink,
you understand.

The first stage saw me run along the coast path. The stretch from the bottom of
Charlcombe Rise through to Clevedon proved a lot less insidious than I’d been
led to believe: sure, you’re ever one slip away from falling down into the sea
for most of it, but if you look where you’re going it’s not treacherous. It
means you may have to stop to take in the scenery – and I did:

Clockwise, from top left: The view approaching Clevedon (you can just about see the Pier; Clevedon Bay; view unto Portishead from Blueberry Wood, some 16miles in (pretty much the point I decided I would go for 26.2; a close shave near Wraxall

I also stopped to let a fellow runner pass me. Boy
was he giving it some welly! He acknowledged my etiquette: alas, I didn’t have
the time to spell out that I might have been running faster if I knew the path better or
if I weren’t planning twenty miles or so that evening! Always tricky not
to knock a slower runner, if only at an instinctive level: or so I found
earlier on in my running journey. Now I appreciate that there are too many
unknowns in the equation (speedwork? short run? long run? recovery run? taper run?
any niggles?) and fare better at rising above such nonsense… all runners, aren’t
we? I just hope others are as open-minded..!(Sorry, Simon – I forgot to ask him to log his miles for LDR!)

Upon reaching Clevedon, I passed its pier and kept
on going – initially covering ground I’d trod on my previous long run but
eventually venturing into new ground. This led me to a river, which I have
since confirmed was the Yeo (though I cannot tell you which one). Followed my human
instinct and ran alongside it (we’re naturally drawn to water, aren’t we?), a
few miles later following the signs for Tickenham. Maybe I would still have
reached it following the river? One to look into…

The climb towards Tickenham was nowhere near as steep as I had anticipated. Then
again, I wasn’t on the road I thought I’d be. So I just kept going, knowing it
was still the right direction, generally speaking. Once in Tickenham I saw a
sign for a pedestrian route and figured I might as well follow it. Now that’s
where it got steep… but not for long. Or so I feel obliged to say now, having
seen what the others did!

At this stage of the route I had a clue as to where
I was, fairly confident I was running parallel to where I wanted to be… but I
can’t say I was sure. In the end I saw a Public Footpath pointing in the
direction of where I thought I needed to be and just followed it. A few turns
later and, sixteen miles into my run, I was at the top of Bluebell Wood – or so
I thought. It was only my second time in Bluebell Wood, the previous time being when I
ran up there from Portishead with some members of Portishead Running Club. On
that occasion, they weren’t sure where we were and I proceeded to slip in the
snow – I fell on my arse and got up in one single, I’d like to think smooth,
movement… the injuries appear to have scarred… Things could only get better
this time, eh?

And they did. It turned out to be Bluebell Wood and
I came out at the other side, in Portbury. A left turn would have shortly got
me over to the Portishead side of the M5; a right turn would have taken me
further away from my house and towards the Gordano Services junction. So – I
duly turned right!

My target for the day was 20mi. However, I had also
told myself that, if I felt fine, I’d aim to hit 26.2mi – a.k.a. marathon
length. Seemed only right and proper. And feel good I did: better than anticipated,
if I’m honest. The niggles behaved, I didn’t push myself too hard… all
uncharacteristically sensible. The slope towards Tickenham hadn’t been as steep
as I envisaged, not least because it wasn’t the road I thought it would be; and
yes, there had been a short burst of incline to get me from The Road I Was On
towards The Road I Thought I’d Be On, but nothing protracted. In my mind I
thought I might have to run a few well-known laps closer to home to extend the
run to the nice figure of 26.2: however, I figured it might feel easier on the
brain to do so before I got close to home so as to not feel as I was “running
away” or, for that matter, had a sensible option in the form of home. Hence my
detour from the 14th century “The Black
Horse” in Clapton-in-Gordano to “The Priory” in
Portbury – both pubs (aren’t they great for navigation?) but very, very
different! Drink at the former and eat at the latter, in a nutshell – if only
because “The Black Horse” doesn’t serve food in the evenings!

Once back in Portishead, I initially thought I’d
knock on my Fearnley friends’ door for a water refill. Then I realised I
couldn’t remember which of three doors I was starting at was theirs… and that,
for that matter, I had more water left than I feared! Stopped at McDonald’s for
a couple of milkshakes and a smoothie… don’t worry, not all for me (one
milkshake was for Mrs S)… ran up Nore Road in the drizzle with McDonald’s paper
bag in hand… dropped it off outside our front door… nipped in at Tesco for a
bottle of Lucozade and one of PowerAid (hey, there was a 2 x £2 offer!)… ran to
the chippie… bought was turned out to be the last fish going…
headed home…

…finished Lucozade as I approached the house,
crossed the imaginary line, walked in, drank my smoothie, Strava’d, showered, tweeted,
ate my fish and chips, was told by Philip
to drink a beer, drank a beer, drank my milkshake… and even treated myself to a
Radox bath!Now, all this effort almost ended in total and utter failure! As per passing comment above, I got my hands on the last fish going at the chippies. I even heard the
thundering sound of shutters slamming behind me as I left, which made it clear how close I’d come to my longest ever
chippie run ending in abject failure! Or turning into my maiden curry run from the adjoining joint, anyway: and that was tempting anyway! Better recovery food, right Dr. Matt?… But I’d set off seeking fish&chips and I was not going to return with anything but fish&chips! Do I look like someone who’d move the goalposts mid-expedition just to suit their purpose, eh? Do I look like Christopher Columbus?

(No, I don’t. Here's the proof: my black bit on top is hair, his is just a daft hat. Plus I’ve patently got a bigger gong. And when I left Genoa seeking better prospects elsewhere, I just boarded a cheap flight to the UK and got on wi’it– I didn’t bother the Queen of Spain asking for three ships..! Besides: I smile more. And you don’t often hear me say that. About anyone.)(And OK, so my hair is actually dark brown. But work with me on this totally futile and pointless matter. Thank you.)

There you have it, girls and boys – my Longest Day
Run 2013 story. It was a good run, although it was a shame that the clouds
obscured the setting sun depriving me of the final, anticipated glorious sight as I (slowly)
ran up Nore Road. So much for studying sunset times and figuring when to aim to get home! It was a good challenge: yes I’d tapered, yes I’d carbloaded,
but I’d not trained for it the way I’d trained for Manchester. And there was
no crowd, no marshalls, no fellow runners… just me and my stupidity / bloody-mindedness. I ran for
4h19’16” and spent another 37’19” either taking photos, figuring which way to
go or queuing at McDonald’s or the chippie (which is called “Appleby’s”, by the
way – not that anyone calls it that, it’s just “the chippie”!). At a pace of 9’51”/mi,
way slower than the 8’04”/mi I’d clocked in Manchester: but then this was really
never about pace or time, something I was fortunately comfortable with throughout. It almost became about time when I thought I might ‘just’
run for four hours and see how far I’d go – as it happens, I needed the extra
19’16” to hit marathon distance! Oh, and whilst 1,318ft is not as impressive an
elevation stat as I was hoping for (and I’m still thinking of asking my Garmin
for a recount!), it’s a darn sight more than the 189ft I recorded in Manchester
– pretty much seven times that!

My favourite bits?Well, I’ve got nothing to offer on a par with The Blackamoor Crew– be that in terms of sights, camaraderie or sense of achievement. But I did love the Coast Path: I will definitely be back, but at the dawn of the day. I’ll be running Westwards so no danger of running towards the rising sun… unless I did an about-turn upon approaching Clevedon (or even earlier) and headed back towards it… not that I’ve put any thought into this yet, you understand! I will give that a go, although whether the sun will be visible by then or obscured by the hills remains to be seen. And see I will!Also, I enjoyed running across the field which led me to the road I was meant to be on. I won’t deny stretching my arms out wide as if taking in the cheers of the crowd, willing them on with smiles and waves… Not that there was a human being in sight, of course. And even the cows seemed non-plussed. Miserable things, cows. You try running 26mi! Just… don’t run behind me. Or anywhere near me, for that matter. Rich, Cat and I established that is one dangerous situation just the other day.

So – all good. Well, mostly, anyway…

…for there is, of course, a somewhat frustrating,
annoying, one may even define stirring element to all this. Any guesses?(Oh, c’mon peeps. Whether in the real world or on here, you know me. You know what’s coming. Don’t you?)(Seriously? Eeh bah gum… I guess I’d better spell it out then!)

Less than a month ago, I was waxing lyrically about
the joy that comes with joining
The Marathon Runners Club, what with its lifetime membership and all that.
I felt like I’d got there, after a journey that had taken a year in physical
training but, some (e.g. my Dad) might say, two decades overall. I’d crossed
the line, in more ways than one. Yes, I wanted to keep on running, to come
under that 3h30’ time that narrowly eluded me in Manchester: but I’d still
joined The Club. Now, after Longest Day Run and the experience shared by Simon
& Co. …

Until April 28, I was a wannabe marathon runner
hanging out (on Twitter) with folk who’d already earned their stripes, their
medals. I felt humbled and honoured to stand in their presence at the finishing
line, having emulated their achievements. So what do they go and do, all of 55
days later?

That’s right – they go and run an ultra! Now, the
likes of Mike, Matt and Trevor were already seasoned ultra runners: no probs
there. But for Simon and Catherine, this was their maiden ultra. An ‘ultra’
being a race of at least 50km / 31mi, incidentally. The extra 8km compared to a
feeble marathon may not sound worthy of elevation into a total new sphere, but ultras
are typically run at least partly off-road, on more challenging surfaces and
with a far greater degree of… yes, elevation!

Anyway, again, I’m out of The Club. Or I’m not in
the latest, coolest, trendiest, hippest Club. How great is my urge to rectify
that?

I’ll tell thee this fer nowt: there is no burning compulsion
to get out there and run 50km. What there is, however, is the hope that, at
some point, I shall be able to share such an experience with my running friends
– maybe cometh Longest Day Run 2014. Running a half marathon in training and
then the real thing in Bristol changed
my relationship with long-time friend Jon forever – what would one of those
ultra thingies (‘official’ or not – by an Ultra’s nature, that’s no big deal)
do?

Similarly, however, me being me I wouldn’t mind a
stab at doing so on my own, at the effort being a truly solo one. I make no
secret of having checked out The
Bideford Bay 50km. Ultimately it’s unlikely to come to anything other than
an exploratory exercise: logistics are always a challenge for me and September 7
isn’t ideal for someone running Half Marathons on September 15 and 29, as well
as October 20, as well as a marathon on October 6. I ain’t no Wells. Although, truth be told, my
racing calendar isn’t my main concern. I do want to run the Bristol Half in its
25th year, I do want to finally compare like-with-like in terms of times, but
neither are key decision drivers – plus I’d hope I could run them anyway. And
that handful of miles along the North Somerset coast path on Longest Day Run has
made me all the more appreciative of the beauty of the rugged South West
coastline and how it works as a perfect setting for running (providing you look
where you’re going). No, my biggest concern is about getting to Bideford (or
nearby) the previous day, getting to the start… sure, there is some
apprehension about the “getting to the finish bit” but this past year has given
me the confidence to do that. It’s not given me my driving licence back.
Fingers crossed that may happen in 2014…

Last but not least: it shouldn’t surprise you to
learn that Longest Day Run has inspired other fellow Nutters to take to the
keyboard. While we continue to await for Simon’s and Catherine’s words to
filter through onto screen (no pressure) (!), check out what Philip
had to say. Beautiful.

So thanks again Simon for being the inspiration behind
Longest Day Run – getting 198
people out there is no mean feat! Not that anyone’s keeping score here, you
understand – although scraping into the Top 20 does please me. And whilst we’re
talking about tables – nobody’s keeping score on the Strava Junedoggle,
right?

Oh look… I’ve somehow reclaimed third place amongst my ‘community’!
Not bad, given I only ran 26 miles last Saturday. None of that 46-mile malarkey for me! Three days to go (indeed, four for those who run in the afternoon!)… I’ll be
happy with a Top 5 finish. In fact, who cares, as long as I creep beyond 200mi as I have so far managed to do every month this year? We’re all one team, at the end of the day – #TeamNutters. (Oh, and to hit 200 in June I need another 7.85mi. Only I need 16.77mi to hit 50 for the week. So 16.77 rules, Baby. And ice packs rock!)

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About Me

Made in Sheffield, exported worldwide. Grew up near Genoa, Italy; returned to Sheffield for Uni (with some time in Nice thrown in for good measure) before falling South and then stumbling West to London, Slough and now North Somerset. Any further West and I'm going to get awfully wet. The 176m separating me from Sheffield generally shrink when I'm online.